Hope
by DeniseV
Summary: Two men share the losses of fathers as they deepen their friendship this Christmas Eve.


Rabb watched as Mac made her way to the far side of the train station. It had been a long day. The two JAG lawyers were called unexpectedly to New York to take depositions in a case involving the murder of a Navy ensign on shore leave in New York City. These witnesses were members of the Swedish diplomatic corps, and had been given last minute instructions to return to their home country for the holidays.  
  
The witnesses were not integral to the case, but simply acted as confirmation of the whereabouts of the ensign in the hours preceding his death. The chance to get this part of the case wrapped up before the holidays sounded good to Rabb and Mac at the time. They both experienced second thoughts as they headed into their eighteenth hour on this Christmas Eve.  
  
"You're gonna be late," Mac had said just moments before. It looked like she was right. In the almost twenty years that he had been visiting the wall on this night, Rabb had never shown up past midnight. It was only ten thirty - there was no reason, save his weary state, that he shouldn't make it there this Christmas Eve.  
  
As he walked back to catch the Metro once again, he noticed a familiar form sitting outside the café. Clayton Webb. What was he doing here? And at this time of night at Union Station? Knowing he could always shorten his journey to the memorial by taking a taxi, and that he could use the caffeine after the long, exhausting and what seemed never-ending day, he went to the counter to order a coffee and see what was up with the CIA operative.  
  
As he waited for his coffee he was disturbed to see that Webb had made no move at all since he'd first seen him. The agent was clearly deep in thought, and in a world all his own: a dangerous circumstance for someone in Webb's line of work, Rabb thought. He grabbed his coffee and headed for Webb's table.  
  
"This seat taken?" Rabb asked.   
  
Webb looked up. And he didn't look good.   
  
"Rabb? Hey, what're you doing here?"  
  
"Just got in on the Metroliner from New York. What're you doing here?" Webb looked as tired as Rabb felt, but there was something else. Rabb wasn't sure yet what it was, but he figured he had the time to see if he could find out. "You just missed Mac."  
  
"Yeah."   
  
Hm. That was an odd reaction. He was fairly sure they were still dating. Rabb now thought he knew what was going on.   
  
"What are you doing here, Clay?"  
  
"I had a meeting at the Capitol. It went a lot longer that it should have. I took the train in - figured the roads would be a mess with the holiday and the weather."  
  
"So you're waiting for your train," Rabb asked, knowing that there was more to the story.  
  
"Um, well, yes and no. I missed the last train to Alexandria. I thought I'd wait to see...I was thinking about trying to catch..." Webb stopped, realizing he was not sure how much he really wanted to get into it with anyone, even Harmon Rabb.  
  
"You wanted to see Mac."  
  
Webb looked up, a disturbing sadness taking over his being. That's what Rabb couldn't put a finger on before. Webb looked sad. It was a feeling he was very familiar with on Christmas Eve.  
  
"No. I really didn't know you were coming in here. Just a coincidence."  
  
Rabb sensed that Mac had something to do with Webb's current mood, but there was clearly something else going on here.  
  
"You want to talk about what's bothering you?"  
  
Webb looked up at his friend. This past year had tested their friendship, to the point where there was nearly nothing to salvage in a relationship which had endured many difficult situations and dangerous missions, all circumstances that had initially strengthened their bonds.  
  
Once Webb's body and psyche had begun the long recovery from the events in Paraguay, and once both he and Rabb had been able to work through the emotional scars that the mission and its aftermath had left, they found that there was indeed something there worth working for. Worth fighting for. A friendship that managed to withstand the severest of tests, and had come out of the fire standing firm in the warm glow of what so easily could have been merely a pile of ashes.  
  
"Tim Fawkes," the spy began, though his voice immediately caught at the mention of the name.  
  
'Tim Fawkes?' Rabb thought. Tim Fawkes, a master in the intelligence community. And Webb's mentor, and so much more.  
  
A few years before, Admiral Chegwidden had returned from 'personal' business in Italy with a directive for Rabb to check in on Clayton Webb. Rabb had been perplexed by the order, at first. But the Admiral had provided a brief summary of the goings-on in Italy and it soon became clear that Rabb had been enlisted by his superior to aid Chegwidden in the role he had assigned to himself: assuring Webb's successful transition past a devastating and potentially crippling event in the operative's life and career.  
  
Rabb was happy to comply at the time - this was far before things had turned sour between the Navy lawyer and the CIA agent.  
  
"Tim Fawkes?" Rabb asked, encouraging him to continue.  
  
Clayton Webb looked over to Rabb, the commander noticing for the first time the slight redness about Webb's eyes. Though the simple rubbing of tired eyes could have caused the inflammation, Rabb suspected something else as a contributing factor.  
  
"Tim Fawkes died this morning."  
  
'Damn', Rabb thought. This was exactly what his friend did not need added to a year already overflowing with pain and disappointment. And especially at this time of year, when what should be overflowing was the exact opposite of what Clayton Webb was currently experiencing.  
  
"Clay, I'm sorry," Rabb spoke, placing his hand comfortingly on Webb's arm. "I know you were close." While Rabb was still working for the agency he had heard through the CIA grapevine that the senior agent had an inoperable tumor.   
  
Webb shook his head sadly and laughed ever so lightly, a 'you have no idea' so clear in the words he did not utter.  
  
Rabb thought he knew what his friend was thinking. Webb had endured much this year. The posting to Suriname, though not an official demotion, had been an obvious dismissal of the operative by an agency he was so committed to serving well. It was a dismissal by his country of a man who had done just that, and more. Though his actions during the Angel Shark investigation were the proper and the morally correct actions to take, the compassionate actions of a good man, the CIA saw them as a betrayal. His banishment to the farther reaches of the Western hemisphere started a cascade of events that nearly lost Webb his life.  
  
And Rabb a good friend.  
  
But had there been another loss for his friend of which Rabb was not aware? It was certainly possible - their own estrangement had gone on for some time. Is it possible that Tim Fawkes had sided against Webb on this one and had that caused some rift between the agent and the father figure, leaving a shaky relationship that now fate, and time, had run out on?  
  
Rabb now also understood why Webb looked so bad. He had probably spent the previous night with his mentor, comforting and reminiscing and joining his surrogate father for one last stand, choosing to bear the bitter pill of disappointment from the man rather than make his last few hours uncomfortable in the effort of reconciling that disappointment.   
  
And then having to push all thought of Tim out while he finished whatever it was that had brought him to the Hill. He was just now getting any chance to deal with the feelings of loss that he'd kept hidden all day.  
  
"Look," Rabb started. "Do you want to get a quick bite? Then I'll drive you home."  
  
Webb smiled briefly, then looked to be drifting away, similar to the way he had appeared when Rabb first came upon him earlier in the evening. Then the smile appeared again, and Webb said, "I don't think the CIA would be happy about one of its own taking that risk. Even if it's me."  
  
"So you're saying you don't trust my driving?" Rabb put on his very best offended face.  
  
"Harm, I don't trust your driving or your car."  
  
"My car? What's wrong with my car?"  
  
"It's fine if you don't mind cars that were put together from a Sears catalogue. Besides, I didn't drive my own in for a reason."  
  
Rabb laughed. "We'll take the Lexus. I like my life."  
  
"You do? That's good." The melancholy was still evident, the silence following an indication that Webb wasn't necessarily feeling the same way.  
  
"Come on," Rabb directed, slapping Webb's back lightly and encouraging him out of the chair by practically pulling it out from under the spy. "I need to make a stop on the way." Rabb looked briefly at his watch as he made sure that Webb didn't fall from the chair stunt.  
  
"Harm. Shit. I forgot. Look, go on ahead. I'll get a taxi." Rabb saw more pain and sadness in the face of the man who probably hadn't been fully aware that it was Christmas Eve until that moment.  
  
"No, no. You look like you could use some food," Rabb said, "and I haven't eaten since lunch. That may work for Mac..."  
  
"I don't know how," Webb joked.  
  
'A good sign', Rabb thought, smiling. "Good point. She must have snuck a power bar when I wasn't looking."  
  
"Or a four course lunch. She's pretty clever when it comes to a possible missed meal."  
  
Rabb laughed out loud. That was so true of his Marine partner. The food conversation was a diversion, a way to get one friend comfortable enough to talk about whatever it was that he needed to get off his chest.  
  
Rabb laughed at himself a little, too. It was surprising how much he had changed. Five years ago he would never have considered this course of action, for himself or his friend. He had been so closed down, closed off from people, the result leaving him somewhat isolated, but safe from hurt where people were concerned. The pain of losing his father was a feeling he had assured himself he would never have to feel again.  
  
But things had changed. He found the isolation itself had transformed him into a person he would not have liked much if he met him on the street. He was lucky that these last years he had been surrounded by warm, caring and most of all understanding people who were willing to stand firm against his many faults: people who were willing to find the person worthy of their love in the man who so effectively managed to keep his distance from them.  
  
The two men headed out the door, their progress stalled at the north exit, where travelers and shoppers heading home surrounded a choir. The choir had just finished a rousing "Deck the Halls" and had begun a beautiful, haunting melody. Rabb noticed Webb pale as he listened to the words:  
  
Blow, blow, thou winter wind  
  
Blow, blow, thou winter wind  
  
Thou art not so unkind  
  
As man's ingratitude  
  
As man's ingratitude.  
  
Thy tooth is not so keen,  
  
Because thou art not seen  
  
Although thy breath be rude  
  
Heigh ho! Sing heigh ho! Unto the green holly  
  
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly  
  
Then heigh ho, the holly!  
  
This life is most jolly.  
  
Freeze, freeze, thou winter sky,  
  
Freeze, freeze, thou winter sky,  
  
That dost not bite so nigh  
  
As benefits forgot  
  
As benefits forgot:  
  
Though thou the waters warp,  
  
Thy sting is not so sharp  
  
As friend remember'd not.   
  
The commander had had about enough of this. And they call this a 'Christmas carol', he thought as he steered Webb out the door. The choir sang beautifully, but this was not what his friend needed to hear after a day like he'd just gone through. Or after the past year, for that matter. Rabb hoped they'd get back to some more traditional carols to usher the rushing travelers to their Christmas Day destinations.  
  
They walked in silence to Rabb's place. Rabb wanted to broach the subject of Tim's death, but Webb had seemed to gather himself well after leaving the station. He continued on beside his friend, finding peace in the calm and quiet, something he'd been lucky to find and then nurture over the years on this day of the year.  
  
"Harm, how have you done it?"  
  
"Done what?"  
  
"How have you dealt with it? Your dad's been gone a long time. It still hurts, doesn't it?"  
  
Rabb was glad to talk about it tonight, for Clay's sake, despite the pain the memories still held.  
  
"Yeah, it does."  
  
"You seem to handle it better than me. And I was lucky enough to have two fathers."  
  
The admission was surprising. Rabb knew that Webb thought of Tim Fawkes like a father, but he had never heard Webb himself verbalize that devotion, that love before. The slight catch in Clayton Webb's throat proved how dear the man had been to him - and it showed that Webb was on the very edge of his emotions.  
  
Had that song stirred something up in his friend? Had he really suffered the loss of his second father without the chance to confirm that their friendship was not in the least feigned?  
  
"Clay, did something happen between you and Tim?"  
  
"It's that obvious?" Webb asked with concern, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, and wiping the wetness from his cheek with the same stroke.  
  
"I've gotten better at noticing things, that's all."  
  
Webb nodded in understanding. They had reached Rabb's loft. They entered Rabb's car and Webb continued, "Tim was really pissed at me for the Angel Shark tape. But I also think he's the only reason the agency didn't fire me."  
  
"What they did, Clay..."  
  
Webb cut him off. "What they did they had to do."  
  
Rabb stared at his friend as he pulled out into the still damp pavement. The weather during their walk to the loft had remained clear, the dampness from earlier snow and rain only evident on the wet streets. Rabb hoped that one day his friend would see with clearer eyes that what the CIA had done to him was wrong, and far beyond any appropriate level of punishment for his crime.  
  
Webb went on. "Tim and I didn't talk after I went to South America. Even when I was back to arrange things for the Sadik operation, I didn't see him or talk to him. I didn't think he wanted to."  
  
Rabb sighed, sure that the operative sitting next to him did not miss the note of frustration it signaled. Rabb knew that Webb wasn't thinking too clearly at the time, his sole focus back then was in ridding the world of Sadik Fahd and getting out of the hell hole he had fallen into.  
  
"I know," Webb admitted. "I was, let's say I was preoccupied at the time. Anyway I didn't even realize that Tim was sick until about a month ago."  
  
"Clay, you were busy in rehab."  
  
"I know, Harm. But Tim didn't call me. He was sick. I should have been there."  
  
"You were in the end."  
  
"Yeah. I was. We had so much catching up to do. I wasn't sure we'd..."  
  
"But you did."  
  
"We did. In the end he almost had me convinced about my assignment. He sounded like you. It was kind of like stereo." Webb smiled at the thought.  
  
Rabb was astonished. Clay was such a company man - for Tim Fawkes to have come close to convincing Webb that his posting to the ends of the world was overkill on the part of the CIA was an amazing feat.  
  
"Good for Tim Fawkes," Rabb said smiling.  
  
"I'm not there yet."  
  
"You will be." The conviction Clayton Webb saw in Harmon Rabb's eyes almost convinced him on the spot.  
  
"Wow. Where're we gonna park? You know any secret places?" They'd been driving slowly on the approach. There had been no parking spots so far. It seemed having troops overseas was bringing more than just family members out to the Wall this cold winter night.   
  
"Yeah. We'll still have a walk, though. And aren't secret places your area of expertise?""  
  
Webb ignored the jibe. "You're cutting it close," he offered instead, the time just twenty minutes before midnight.  
  
"We'll be okay," Rabb replied, the double meaning recognized and accepted by both men.  
  
The two friends approached the spot on the wall that displayed the name of Harmon Rabb, Sr.  
  
"You get a lot of comfort from coming here." It was a statement from the agent, not a question. It was a statement that said, 'I understand completely how that could be', an understanding gleaned from personal experience standing before a simple, nondescript wall of stars in an office building in a D.C. suburb.  
  
"I do. I guess that seems silly."  
  
"No. No it doesn't."  
  
They stood quietly, arm brushed up against arm, reflecting on the fathers in their lives. Moments passed, and then Rabb offered, "You're so lucky, Clay."  
  
A long pause was followed by an ever so quiet, "I know."  
  
They continued standing side by side in silent friendship, Rabb finally rubbing his fingers over the letters of his dad's name. He turned to his friend and smiled.   
  
"Let's eat. I'm starving."  
  
"I'm freezing here. Aren't you cold, Rabb?" Rabb stood before the CIA man with no overcoat, just his suit jacket protecting him from the high thirty-degree temperatures enveloping them.  
  
"I never need a coat when I'm here." A simple testimonial that said so much.  
  
As they slowly walked away from the wall and took the footpath between the Korean War memorial and the Lincoln Monument, a choir sang a tune that far more accurately reflected what this night meant to Harmon Rabb. It certainly far better suited the brave life lived by a fallen hero and father figure. And Rabb felt it spoke to the man beside him, who proved over and over his devotion to his country and to securing its peace and its security for all of its people.  
  
'Now that's more like it', Harmon Rabb thought as the two walked in the warm blush of the touching lyrics:  
  
You are the new day  
  
You are the new day  
  
I will love you more than me  
  
And more than yesterday  
  
If you can but prove to me  
  
You are the new day  
  
Send the sun in time for dawn  
  
Let the birds all hail the morning  
  
Love of life will urge me say  
  
You are the new day  
  
When I lay me down at night  
  
Knowing we must pay  
  
Thoughts occur that this night might   
  
Stay yesterday  
  
Thoughts that we as humans small  
  
Could slow worlds and end it all  
  
Lie around me where they fall  
  
Before the new day  
  
One more day when time is running out  
  
For everyone  
  
Like a breath I knew would come   
  
I reach for a new day  
  
Hope is my philosophy   
  
Just needs days in which to be  
  
Love of life means hope for me  
  
Born on a new day  
  
You are the new day  
  
NOTE: Blow, Blow Thou Winter Wind and You Are the New Day are two of my favorite choral works. They are standards in my sister the choir director's repertoire during the holiday season, even though they are not strictly Christmas carols. The former was written by William Shakespeare and set to music by the amazing John Rutter. The latter was written by John David. Good Englishmen all. 


End file.
